pic by Henri Blommers
“I was born in the wagon of a traveling show,
my Mama used to dance for the money they’d throw.
Papa would do whatever he could ....”
Well, not quite ....
Although my own birth is shrouded in mystery after my Birth Certificate disappeared many years ago in a fire at the council offices which unfortunately also took the life of the civil servant who had worked there for the last 50 years.
God moves in mysterious ways my dears ....
My older sister, Marge, and I grew up in poverty ridden West Midlands, England. It was dim and dark and dreadful. My sister was the wild one, always out with boys (plural), drinking, dancing, generally having a wonderful time whilst I sat at home learning to knit. Sometimes I really do think that the apple did not fall far from the tree when she gave birth to my nephew.
We adored our Mother, Emma, who was as working class as they come but still managed to look like a million dollars when the mood caught her (Father must have gone bankrupt many times during their marriage but we never noticed).
I remember Marge’s wedding when Mother arrived at the church in a dusky pink, very tailored, two piece suit looking like she’d just flown in from Paris. My god she caused a stir. She stepped into the church and it was as if the whole congregation simultaneously held their breath as she walked down the aisle to her seat in the front. What followed can only be described as vulgar chattering all round.
But that was nothing compared to the stir she made after the wedding when Marge found out that Mother’s suit had cost more than her wedding dress .... she’s never let that one rest ....
By the way, Mother’s maiden name was Moore. Hence my (stage) name is Glamour. I may or may not reveal my real name someday, but don’t hold your breath dears.
I’ve worked behind a Perfume Counter at Harrods in London. I’ve been a PR person for Yves Saint Laurent in Paris, and a Window Dresser for Barney’s (Downtown of course) in New York and so here I am in Amsterdam until the next time I get the wanderlust and I let the wind take me wherever it blows.
I live with my dear nephew on the Zeedijk right in the middle of the oldest part of Amsterdam. He makes all my dresses, organizes my agenda, makes my appointments etc, and that way I can keep him off the streets and out of trouble. (My sister would have a fit if she knew what he gets up to ....)
I’m not a pet person and never have been, and after an unfortunate incident with a Great Dane and its owner which brought tears to my eyes I’ve never felt truly at ease around animals.
Speaking of accessories, I’ve never had children. It just isn’t in me, I don’t have a motherly gene in my body. I assume my sister got all of the motherly instinct and it was all up when it came to me. I do mother my nephew, a little, even though he insists on telling everyone that he’s my servant. It’s not true my dears, I’d be lost without him.
Men send me offers of marriage almost every day since I launched myself onto the Internet. I’m sure they’re only after my money. But I’ll have none of that nonsense. I’m an independent woman of very little means.
Thank goodness I have my talent and innate sense of style, because, honestly my dears, without these I’d be destitute. In this barren world of cultural philistines I am constantly ‘shouting in the wilderness’ as the Dutch would say. Fear not dear ones! Every once in a while at one of my cultural soirees on the Zeedijk I get the chance to spread my talent around and infect others with joy and civilized entertainment.
But less of me (for the moment) and more of you dear viewer (or is it reader?) - please use the contact button to send me an email and tell me if you would like to hear more of my memoirs.